This might seem to be an odd post from an artist for some.
Let's be honest ... who really wants to talk about, let alone deal with grief, loss, death? As an eternal optimist by nature, I certainly haven't wanted to go down this road. Regardless, as I deal with the trauma and work through some areas of healing the past several years, it has led me down the grief path. Trauma, loss, and healing are inexplicably intertwined.
One day we’ll do this again … on the shores of bigger waters than the Great Lakes 🤍
And it affects every area of life, including career. As a professional artist - and by default, entrepreneur - we take a road less traveled right out of the gate. Without a doubt, we have to carry the weight of whatever comes our way and find ways to do it while still running a business. Grief is a heavy, complicated emotion that can sometimes feel downright impossible to navigate.
So, as an artist and entrepreneur, dealing with the recent (April 21, 2024) death of my father has been one of the most challenging periods of my life.
I am in community with, and inspired by, so many creative people from around the globe on the daily. I hear how challenging it can be when life's curveballs are thrown their way. Today I felt a prompt to share what it's looking like for me, in hopes that they - or you - won't feel quite so alone when the hard things come.
The earliest known photo of Dad, age 3, Pickford, Michigan, USA
So, here I am (aren't you lucky, lol), sharing the process of navigating grief while continuing to create and run my art business, Debra Hart Studio. Perhaps these jumbled thoughts will turn into something helpful for you or someone you know walking through a major loss. Even if you're not, I happen to believe it is relevant - and very often a wonderful gift - to share our stories in the spirit of shared experiences amd encouragement, so here is mine.
Initial Shock
Just because this life-marking event had been a long time coming, it didn’t really make it much easier than the sudden loss of my only sibling, Larry, in 2020. Yes, Daddy was 85, and yes, he’d had a number of health issues that slowly drained his quality of life over the past decade. From about 2018, each visit to my hometown in Michigan ended in "final good-byes" because we never knew if or when it would be our last.
As hard as it’s been each time, I’m grateful for the dozen or so goodbyes. We had the privilege of saying things to one another that were in our hearts and to feel an element of closure that some don’t get when a loved one dies.
Still, when I first received the phone call on a Sunday from my stepmom June that Daddy was gone, I felt the shock. We were supposed to have started daily video chats the day before, which never happened because he simply slipped into sleep that morning, and never awoke.
Me and Daddy - Aurelius, Michigan, USA, c. 2008. Daddy’s wearing his traditional Michigan winter hat. Every.single.winter.since.about.1940, lol 😂
I’m grateful he was able to leave this life pain-free. Little did I know that Friday’s video chat was to be the first and the last. The last time I laid eyes on my dad or heard his voice telling me he loved me. His final words to me were “God bless you, kiddo,” and he was smiling at me when he said it. A big deal, since he would only talk about the Lord when I brought Him up.
I realized during those first few days after he'd gone that I'd been deeply grieving Daddy for much longer than I'd realized, even though I was fully aware of the 'preparatory grief' I'd been experiencing. It had been just a matter of time, it was big ... and it was finally here.
Without an Outlet
As there was to be no traditional service or memorial according to his wishes, navigating feelings, decisions, and plans have proven tricky. And hard. Being in another state some 900 miles away from my family, there was not a place to go to process my grief or celebrate his life with them outside of a few phone calls. Understandably, my stepmom has wanted and needed space because her son is moving in and there’s a lot to do in preparation. Better for her as she adjusts to her own new way of life to keep things simple and peaceful, and I agree with that.
To be honest, however, initially I felt not only deep sorrow but also experienced feeling cheated, alone, overwhelmed, numb, and confused. Yes, confused. There were other griefs that began to surface, which makes sense once I began to process them, but they were absolutely unexpected, bewildering, and seemed to overshadow the ‘present’ loss.
Even my paints seemed to be shadowed …
And then there was my studio. Creativity. Good gravy, ya’ll.
My studio, my creative space, once a sanctuary, became a hollow, lifeless room each time I peered in … for some reason, it was not an invitation but rather a stark reminder of my loss. The brushes, canvases, and vibrant paints seemed muted in the shadow of my grief. I remember meandering in there daily and wondering what happened. Did all the color go out of my life? Where did the joy go? I would think. I remember looking at the canvases, easels and my art journaling table, unable to summon the resolve to create.
Thankfully, in my lostness, I began to journal to help sort things through. I worshipped when I didn’t feel like it. My faith - or more accurately, Jesus - was the anchor during the early days after Daddy died. He remains very close, providing comfort, strength, and a sense of His Presence - so close that it transcends the pain. And the faithfulness, the kindness and fellowship with my closest confidantes and community has also made a huge difference.
Finding Comfort in Creating
After a few weeks, I began to feel a gentle nudge to return to my work. Art has always been one of the key ways of processing my life, along with writing/journaling, nature walks, traveling and exploring new places, and photography. Plus, I still had to move forward with my commitments as an entrepreneur, and so working and creating became an avenue for dealing with my grief.
I decided to start small, with simple art journaling pages. It was a struggle to begin, I won’t lie. It was a stop and start venture at best. I got frustrated. I cried. I felt like a failure. I began to wonder if I was even supposed to be an artist or entrepreneur anymore. I couldn’t believe it - I was so … blocked. It took some time, some prayer, some ugly pages (and equally ugly cries), some paint slaps, and some good ol’ fashioned Southern grit somewhere deep in my belly to overcome. And, very messily and clumsily, at last I did.
One day, as I wrestled with the initial “blank page” syndrome that most artists are familiar with, I realized something. As I provide video content for my faith-based art journaling group, SOUL Collective with Debra Hart Studio, it dawned on me that the struggle itself (and how I hoped to move through it) might be helpful to others.
Early morning light flooding my art journaling table and a fresh page
So I began to film what I was doing. That filming became a much larger ‘thing’ that God was doing. It ended up being a 14-video series for my SOUL Collective group - and one that I’ll incorporate into my upcoming online video course, Intuitive Art Journaling.
Although I didn’t really think of it in those terms at the time (I made lots of mistakes, laughed at myself, fussed at myself, and shared how to bring fun into the process), what I was doing while filming was processing my grief through the act of creating. And through sharing my gifts with others.
Realizing this came much later (as in, today as I write this, ha). Only God, only God could do something like that! Each brushstroke, each little decision on the page, each sharing of my heart for creativity was a simple moment of worship, a step towards healing, a way to process my emotions without words. Okay, some words, since I was talking on the videos :)
Mixed Media Art & Music
So I soldier on, creatively. And in this season, I am finding a reprieve and joy in working with softer colors and mediums in my mixed media art.
While I’m still using my go-to mixed media materials and color palettes, I noticed recently that I’ve muted them with more pastels and whites. I think their gentle nature mirrors my need for softness, grace, and fluidity in dealing with my emotions. I’ve also noticed that I avoid harsh mark making, too heavy lines, and bold colors for the time being, opting instead for soothing, blended tones that reflect my inner landscape and feel … well, safer somehow. For now.
Daddy at the Hart Family Reunion in Mason, Michigan, with his Takemine 12-string
There’s also a reprieve in realizing how much of Daddy’s interests have become mine … Of sorts … okay, let’s just say interest ‘adjacent.’ He was a gifted musician on the guitar, mandolin, and banjo with folk, country and bluegrass music - I am a worship vocalist and budding mandolin player. He loved growing vegetables, herbs, and berries - and I have a green thumb with flowers and indoor plants. He was a natural craftsman with wood - I’ve been an artist and writer ever since I could hold a brush and a pen. He was a photographer and photo developer in the U.S. Army National Guard - I have had some form of a camera in my hands since I was about 12. So these things I have found myself leaning into - rediscovering some of my passions that line up so closely with Daddy’s somehow brings him closer and is proving immensely healing.
Balancing an Art Business and Healing
Running Debra Hart Studio during this time has been both incredibly challenging - and full of grace and blessing. A hard, sweet, and beautiful dichotomy. There have been hours of time, sometimes days, when it has been nearly impossible to bring myself to engage with clients, work my part-time gig, be on top of admin tasks and marketing efforts, or work on commissions. Yet somehow, as I bravely forged on a bit at a time, the work itself began to emerge as a sanctuary. I say ‘bravely’ not because I’m special, but because it felt really scary and beyond what I was capable of mentally, emotionally or even physically … and I did it anyway.
Maybe it was other than bravery, as I’d been feeling so lost that doing something felt better than nothing. Either way, what’s happening is a surprising and supernatural grace that appeared just when I’ve needed it. I have been able to show up and do all the things, including the peopling and adulting and arting. I'm keenly aware of it still. And keenly aware also of the Lord’s presence, as He generously promises to be “near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18).
More Grace and Boundaries in Grief for the Artist
In 2023 during my last visit to Michigan, Daddy gave me his 1920 Gibson mandolin
Over the past 20 years or so, I’ve been on a hard-earned journey of learning to give myself grace, to accept that it is okay to take a step back and focus on what brings LIFE. It might seem counter-intuitive, especially at first, but it also means leaning into grieving, processing, and ultimately, healing. Partnering with Jesus has been the way through. I’m still on the journey, still learning, and constantly in need of His beautiful grace.
One important step during this season of grief has been setting healthy boundaries. I’ve had days where emotions have been raw, near the surface, and overwhelming. There has been a need for an extra measure of self-care such as sleeping, naps, shorter work sessions when needed, walking, fooling around on the mandolin, phone calls to dearest ones (or needing space from calls), journaling, and of course, weeping. Grief can be incredibly exhausting!
So, I’ve communicated with friends, family and clients about my situation and asked for patience and understanding. I haven’t gone into the details about what I’ve been experiencing for most; I simply share that Daddy passed away and I need time to process the loss. Although I already knew it, can I just say that I have the BEST people in my life?! All have been incredibly supportive, offering words of comfort and allowing me space to grieve. This support network has been invaluable, reminding me that it’s not only okay - but rather necessary - to lean on others when times are rough.
Transitioning
Daddy’s girl, 2nd birthday, Aurelius Twp., Mason, Michigan, USA
I’m finding this to be a transition time, learning to live without my Daddy. I can’t go visit and feel his strong arms reassuring me or the grip of his rough, gentle carpenter hands in mine. I cannot call him or ask his advice or hear him play guitar or crack a really dry, really bad dad-joke or harmonize a John Denver song together. I probably won’t recognize his home when I do get to Michigan for a visit, so much will have changed simply because he’s gone. I don’t look forward to any of this and I don’t know when the loss will fade, if ever.
So I’m left transitioning. Finding a new rhythm in my life, studio practices, and business. My art and creativity will likely shift as a result, infused with more wisdom, light and a fresh story. Already, my private worship and writing/journaling times have transitioned. At some point in my studio, I’ll likely incorporate brighter colors and bolder strokes to reflect the journey from the shadows into light. Each piece, each video, every word penned will become a testament to the power and resilience that flows from Jesus within.
And all the while, my art, journals, and canvases are becoming a visual diary of the healing process.
Moving Through Grief as an Artist or Entrepreneur
Processing grief while being an artist and entrepreneur continues to be a deeply informative (and transformative) experience. I am finding my way. Even though I experience the loneliness of being without Daddy, I am not alone. Holy Spirit has been my constant companion, guiding me through the darkest moments and helping me see the light ahead.
As I heal, I’m finding ways to honor Daddy’s memory and his passion for music, nature, gardening, woodworking, and creativity as he understood and embraced it - working with his hands.
As I heal, I’m journeying with a strength-grace and seeking the hidden purpose in it all.
Learning to journey with strength-grace
As I heal, I’m asking the Lord to bless others with whom I’m journeying because of -and despite - this loss. That’s how the Kingdom works - nothing is wasted, and that brings even greater glory to Jesus. A big, big win for those of us who believe.
If you are going through a similar experience, I really do feel you. Please know that it’s okay to take your time. It’s okay to do what you need to do most in order to begin feeling human and whole and creative and energized again. Listen to that inner voice that’s whispering, calling you to seek out beauty, rest, joy, laughter, tears, or whatever is needed in the moment.
And there’s great, great power in leaning on (or finding) your faith in Jesus, a creative expression, and your community. Healing from grief may be an unwelcome journey, but it is a journey none of us can escape and one you don’t have to walk alone.
🤍 🤍 🤍
Back in the studio this week …
Debra Hart is an Atlanta-based fine artist and entrepreneur. Her work is inspired by her relationship with Jesus, the natural world, and personal experiences, creating contemporary abstract and semi-abstract pieces resonating with emotion and beauty. She loves writing, shooting photos, her family, and kittehs.
She also is a creativity guide through the various international artist communities she serves, including online courses and workshops, as well as her Creative Cafe with Debra Hart Studio and SOUL Collective with Debra Hart Studio. You can learn more about Debra, view her art, and learn about other offerings at www.debrahartstudio.com.